Viva la Vida
by Thegirlwiththebooks
Summary: "Do I not matter?" I screamed, dust settling in my furious lungs. "You could have fought for me too, Enjolras! There is more to life than this damn revolution." "People cannot love without the revolution!" He argued. "No, you're mistaken. Only you cannot love without revolution." I took a sharp breath. "Vive la France, my sweet angel. Viva la vida."
1. Lilac: The colour of nostalgia

The day my parents died I wore a lilac dress. The day they were buried I wore a black dress. The day I was sent away I wore a white dress. It's amazing the little things a girl can remember, no matter how young or insignificant, were everyone around you is so sad you just know it's important. Even if you don't fully understand what is happening.

The lilac dress was my favorite of the three. They happened to be my only three dresses; I had brown sacks that were durable but being an unremarkable girl in a remarkable city I refused to wear them to give the French any more reason to look past me. I was only ten at the time, skipping through pubescence with Nathalie as though it would never end. It's funny to think of times where poverty was just a seven-lettered word and had no meaning, or where the future was blurred for the better. Mama always fussed about the lack of bread at the table, but we too busy skimming the castles in the sky to notice. Papa was a well-paid carpenter, or at least that's what I remember of him, but having five hungry mouths to feed beside his own to a full stomach was a lot more than wooden chairs and tables could provide, no matter the adornments. He could carve lions into the stool's feet, and flowers onto the corners. The wood became alive in his skilled hands that never seemed to take the pressure of wood day after day.

"Thérèse," Nathalie said quietly, as though trying to listen to drops of raining falling down the carriage window. I'd forgotten the fierceness of the silence we'd fallen under. "Have you nothing to say at all?" The bitter end to my name suggested she was growing tired of my silence. Maybe she was simply growing tired of me.

"Must you speak like the lady of the house? We're only twelve." I finally managed to retort, staring out to the grey countryside. France was weeping for us, I was sure of it. Its grey clouds were remorse and the pouring rain its tears. Sorry, I believed it was saying, for taking your parents. Sorry, for taking you here.

"You are the lady of our house now, Tee. In case you forgot, mama isn't-"

"How can I be the lady of a house if we have no house?" I didn't mean to be so mean, but does anyone? "Why do you insist on being smart!" Nathalie flustered back, her cheeks burning red already irritated with the tears that refused to stop. "Why can't you just be kind to me? We used to play and dance and laugh, and now you hardly say a word and when you do, it's never kind." The sister bit into her lip beside her sister on the carriage rocking slightly by the force they were bundling down the rough path. Her eyes so like mine were downcast and streaming with yet more liquid distress.

"Please, Nathalie." I awkwardly patted her head of matted brown locks that only days ago had been luxurious curls she'd spent the best part of her morning making it just exactly right. Now, she didn't care; and looked more like me every day. The same sleep-deprived eyes purple at the delicate tinges of young skin and the round edges of their faces some of the starving circumstances endured watery meal over stale bread over the year from a bad week at sales. What I'd soon discovered was that having a softer face was never taken kindly by the people of Paris. They needed proof of jagged bones before they'd spare crumbs a loaf regardless of how convincing you could sell your story and even then they were tough to the worst of them. Her dress was the copy of mine, an off-white plain thing with only a frill around their long sleeves for decoration. It clashed against our pale skin, that browned in the summer along with freckles that traveled down our arms and crowded in little brown groups on our shoulders and below our eyes. Since the last summer; I'd acquired one on my lip that refused to leave and forever resembled a smudge of chocolate. Nathalie was silent, her breaths slowly calming from their sobbing sharp gasps for desperate air. It was just us in the carriage - our guardians decided we'd get there with only our own comforts.

I'd made myself believe that my own lilac dress was lucky. It drew in at the waist and had a violet ribbon that held me together at the end that made me believe I could be the duchess's daughter, or maybe an old Princess of France. How lucky they seemed, ages that could be mine yet without parents that frowned about money, and only enjoyed the splendor they were born into. Of course, I didn't know what I know now, and that the royals would be as cursed as that Lilac dress. We'd been playing by the river, and I'd cried as water splashed it's frills and ends. Little did I know they were the smallest, vainest tears I'd cry that day.

It was an accident, the man said. They'd been travelling to deliver a man's new set, three chairs to surround a circular table. The cost of their dear lives. A collision of horses and carriages, the hustle of an impatient street, and finally the blood shed of the Potriens. The Lilac dress seemed to burn my skin and us children were alone. Nathalie, Thérèse , little Louis and Vincenzo. The boys would not stop crying for their mother, and we didn't have the heart to tell them otherwise.

The black dress was scratchy, with a neat little white collar that nearly suffocated my neck though I hardly cared. Nathalie stood by my side, symmetrical as we held cold sweaty hands and stood in the same trembling pose. The washerwomen had helped us get ready, and "Ooh"ed and "Aaah"ed at us for pity's sake I presume, though it helped to distract us more than any condolences of the weeping village. We did not see the bodies, but there was a distinct smell of strong polish everywhere which I'd like to think was our father, standing beside us to show us the way to act at this own funeral A strict man to us he wasn't, but fair. I remember the expression of pain each adult would have upon their faces hidden beneath the black as Vinnie would say; "Please, Monsieur; will you tell me where my father is?" His face was like the painted angels in our holy church, which lead people to have an awful habit of giving him exactly what he wanted. But even the most beautiful of looks couldn't bring a dying man home out of want. Us four children stood without a penny to our names, and with help and care as temporary and uncomfortable as my thin black dress.

"Chers enfants!" A new face appeared dressed finer than any attending the graves, I didn't dare meet the eyes of a man with a voice so powerful. Vincenzo gave into him immediately and hugged his leg - all he needed was the conformation of affection - but the rest of us held our suspicions a moment longer. "Such brave hearts, you children. But I have good news! Your grandparents have agreed to take you in."

"We have no grandparents." Nathalie spoke up as I nodded with her, all of our eyes pinned towards the man upwards with such an intensity he might have taken us as adults. Louis' high voice would have blown it if he'd not been so smart

"Well what a surprise you have in store!" He wheezed, pulling out a beige long letter reading snippets from their home. "They are beyond riches of this town, maybe even it's neighbour!"

"Why should we trust you?" Louis chirped in with weary eyes. The man laughed.

"Why wouldn't you? Forgive me. My name is Hanzel; I've been trying to contact your late father's family since his passing for your carers. There aren't many cases that end up as fortunate as I know yours will be. They live a few miles west of Paris. Their relationship with your father was halted by your mother... nevermind. But in circumstances they have agreed to take you."

"All of us?" I asked, feeling no other choice but to trust him and his pot belly that reversed danger signals.

"You and your sister will be taken the best care of! There is a convent nearby where they have requested you both attend. Do not pout-" He caught our aghast faces. "They shall teach you to read, to write! You may pray for your parents souls until they will dine with God himself." Hanzel smiled, spreading to our own faces unobligingly. "Thérèse, is it not?" He pointed to me. "You will have the time of your life growing up in the arms of nuns." He crouched down to whisper in my ear, softer than smooth pebbles smelling of warm garlic as he pulled away a curl of my hair. "They sing like the choirs of angels themselves. You like angels, non?"

"Oui." I giggled. Kindness, the true kind not from those who for one reason or another had their doubts against the Potriens, was hard to come by and I fell into its embrace as newborn babies are cradled by their mothers.

There were no papers to sign, or bags to pack. Just one night sharing a bed between the four of us and a change of clothes before Hanzel was to whisk us out. We stayed in the Inn, where the scurrying of rats under the floorboards kept the foundation quaking and we were served a strong lager and bread for our farewell banquet, alongside the grandest jam we'd ever tasted; raspberry juice was a glimpse of heaven between the insomnia.

And that was how we were separated from our brothers - their direction to the future of our alleged wealthy grandparents was polar to the holy life - and ended up alone, yet all together dressed in white with tears on our cheeks and nothing on our backs. We found ourselves hours later, when we'd fought and laughed and cried along the way until at last we merged together as one sole, united bond of sisterhood the nuns themselves would envy should they be capable of such a horrendous thing.

Knocking on heaven's door was a hard task, but as they "ooh"ed and "ahh"ed at our locks, and youthful skin that had managed to survive through the weeks of hell that had led us here, each of the sisters with hats like large birds nesting on their level heads welcomed us with opened arms and a lifetime without children to be made up from. They took our soggy clothes, and replaced with materials like untouched snow and led us to our own room, with an entire bed to share all to ourselves. The sheets were much too fresh and clean, and much could be said the same for the nightgowns, but we quickly made a tent in our sheets, whispering warm words of comfort we were too young to ever have to use.

"We'll be safe here, Thérèse." Nathalie whispered, I nodded silently. She soon fell asleep with me following soon after. That night I dreamt of god-awful lilac dresses with blood and dirt at its hems and carriages and more crimson and tears and most important of all; of a blurred man I'd never laid eyes on standing tall dressed in red and black - a saint I presumed as I watched him through the vision - though little did I know fates of a thousand other martyrs would be a blessing in comparison to that of a man I'd yet to meet.

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_**A/N** - Hello everyone! God it's been ages since I've had the pleasure of being here. Does Therese sound familar? God knows why I can't stop writing about her but I hope you like this all the same. This is only the setting, and I promise I have .instore. for Therese and Enjolras (!) so stay tuned! Reviews are welcomed, **thoroughly**._


	2. Black: The colour of despair

I was woken up by the sound of angels. There was no other way to describe the choir; each had a voice so pure and kind, I felt terrible for even letting my dirty ears have to pleasure of listening. If the music had been a colour, it would be gold. If I was a colour, I'd be the murk shade of the puddles carriages splash wheels in as they are welcomed into the convent. I tiptoed quietly away to see the gathering, careful not to awake Nathalie with dribble slipping down her thin lips still submerged fully in her dreams. We'd been here for years, yet I could hardly manage to sleep in past dawn. Something about our home still seemed unknown, like I was a guest who'd outstayed their welcome and not in training to become a full member. We slowly adapted to the lives of these modern day angels, and making not so valiant efforts t securing a safe seat in heaven while learning to read, and cook, and clean for when the time came. We'd learnt how their entire mortal lives lived for the grace of god.

It all seemed well and good, except for the simple fact that a dark abyss in the soul of who I truly was had no desire to be holy. Sure, my surficial thoughts were gladdened for a purpose in life and a symbol of hope for my future. But it was what had programmed the core of my existence, like the intricacies of a clock that ticked inside each of us conspired against the celibate life. I did not want her, the vixen, the sinner, the fatal truth. She crept into my sleep and strangled my virtues whilst I couldn't fight back in forms of couples' embraces, grins and hot mingling breath. Desire, red and bloody and evil, was all my subconscious lived for. I ignored it during the day; muttered a Hail Mary or ten under my breath to waylay my thoughts; but at night I was a slave to its power. Which I suppose was the reason I didn't sleep late after all.

Nathalie grunted as I closed the door behind me. The hallways were silent as always and only made the sound all the more haunting as I followed its call. Latin was coaxed from their lips old and new, mingling with the soft French of their accents praising God in all tongues. As I snuck a peep at them in the choir room, once again the eleven year old who'd landed at their door new to their antics, I saw the backs of each sister with the white cones sitting on their level heads bowed down in prayer. The choir room was electric, the organ though belting each key with a fury nearly drowned out by the passion they were forbidden to express in any other form. This was it; their kisses, their caresses, their embraces. Each word was filled with fierceness now as a near woman with black and deep desires could fully fathom.

Yes, I was no longer than eleven year old with puppy fat of all the odds of my starvation. The nuns had large hearts, but much less to divide the sheer mass of them; which lead to the steady decline of my excess mass until finally my stomach was near flat, my ribcages slightly visible as I'd breathe in heavily. I almost missed the softness of the skin where bones were hidden deep beneath, and the thought I could be like a hibernating creature saving my food for the winters. My height had hardly changed, leaving me little beyond five foot and the bane of the required uniform. Everything had to be shortened to fit the lengths of Nathalie and I, who was even shorter than I but only by her pinkie nail as she'd discovered with disgust. I hardly saw my figure hidden beneath the straight pinafores who made no effort to suggest a single curve in my otherwise womanly frame for a girl of sixteen. I was trapped halfway between my adulthood by my body, and rather fittingly by my scheming brain too. My face had narrowed, and I now had cheekbones that contrasted to the roundness of my petite nose and small, relatively full lips. I'd never much liked my face, vanity was a sin here but whenever I dwelled upon it, I'd never truly smiled. My forehead was much too square, and that little freckle on my lip had stood the test of time for another five years. Now I was sure it would be a lifelong companion, almost like Nathalie.

"The devil comes for girls of youth." Sister Berges once told me; on the day where I first noticed the pool of blood that had come from me and in fits had tears had asked her if I was dying. Instead, she'd told me I was being possessed by Satan. "You will soon find yourself amongst considerations that aren't yours – they are the devil's – and you must remember of the love of God. He will cleanse you of these."

What sister Berges did not know as I watched her play the organ with a concentrated gaze so in love with the moment and the collaborations of her instrument to the symphony of voices, like a man could love a woman, was that if what she'd said was true; she'd let the devil invade her bloodstream with every note. Sister Clarisse was first to spy me with half of my head in the tall doorway, and smiled beckoning me into their world for just a moment. The candles glowed a reflection of heaven's golden gates on their faces. I stood and watched as the Latin faded and the organ's drones began to oblivate quietly until at last the only organ in the room going was the panting lungs of each of the nuns. They all smiled the same smile at me; happy faces, but pitiful eyes.

"Good morning Thérèse… I was meaning to speak with you." Clarisse was the only moving mouth in the whole room; they all had a terrifying habit of acting like one whole being like the literal formation of the body of Christ, and Clarisse was always the mouthpiece. The arms and legs filtered away to their daily tasks, until it was only the two of us.

"Good morning," I replied, quiet as the hallways. It was serious, too serious. I knotted a finger in my end strands of my brown locks and waited for the news. Had I done something? Or had God given her the gift of my every thought, and heard the atrocities that I'd screamed internally? _Forgive me sister_, I found myself thinking._ It is the devil I swear! I can ignore him, please don't- _

"I'm afraid I have some bad news." How she knew it was me and not Nathalie was a small miracle. Most couldn't separate us for their own dear lives, and simply referred to us as 'Girls!' to save the trouble. My gaze dropped, unready to prove my maturity as I studied the bare floors so different to the ornate skies of ceilings and walls adorned in paintings with golden frames. What they refused to spend on food they splurged on decorations for their places of worship.

"We received a letter last night regarding your grandparents." I loathed the way she held each word a little too long, as though she was afraid to reach the climax of her news. I held my breath for the worst; but what could have happened to my grandparents that was worth writing about? Images of feverish grandparents flashed through me; maybe ill, maybe dead. It had happened to me parents, why not them? "I'm afraid to tell you that their fortune has gone, Thérèse. Mr Potrien's investments did not follow through and ultimately drove them to bankruptcy."

"Where are the boys?" I asked immediately, remembering the two younger brothers of my past who were almost as transparent as the ghosts of our shared parents. Not a word had been said about any of my family until now; if Nathalie hadn't been around, I would have assumed I'd made them up for boredom's sake. Maybe I was a suffering basket case locked up in a prison, having rocks thrown at my head and the laughs of stuffed pig people filling the ears who wouldn't listen. My blood ran cold, and I awaited an answer.

"Your grandparents have been relocated to a friend's for the time being." They wouldn't last a week without wealth, I was sure of it. "But luck has once again shined on your siblings, as the very same friend has agreed to adopt the boys. Jean Calzone was his name, I believe the letter said. A kindly old fellow apparently, with a lot of love to shower on them. It is your interests I would like to discusss."

She led me down to a seat, letting me nestle uncomfortably into its tough back digging into my spine. I breathed a single sigh of relief for my brothers, before widening my eyes at the fate of Nathalie and I. What would become of us? At sixteen, we were no longer children, and so adoption was hardly an option.

"We've very much enjoyed the presence of you both for your years here. We haven't had young ones for quite some time." She smiled warmly. "But we no longer have enough funds to provide for children. So we came up with a compromise. You and Nathalie are allowed to stay, if you agree to join our sisterhood. A lifetime of holiness and learning and singing. This is what we are offering."

It took all of my willpower to not let my jaw chaff against the group. Was there not a moral flaw in blackmailing those to be holy? I simply nodded, watching instead the crinkles between her two eyes to make her believe I was staring deep into her irises. A lodger was a fine occupation, but a nun itself I was sure I couldn't be. Her game was much too cruel.

"Now, we are not forcing this upon you; the door is always open though I strongly advise against leaving. I was bred in Paris; which is where I'd assume you'd go; and I can promise it will not be the palace of the dreams you may believe you seek. It has vile creatures, and evil thrives in its streets. I urge you to stay, Thérèse."

Everything became a blur. Her hug of comfort was numb, and my gaze distant. All at once I could understand everything and nothing; why Jesus grimaced on the oil canvases, why my heart had been so uncertain hearing the coaxing of nuns this morning, but not why the more dominant, darker centre of my heart begged for its escape. _This is your chance, Thérèse. You can see Paris…_

_It wouldn't be glamorous_… I found myself fighting back. My brain was threatening to split. _You'll suffer, you'll know not a soul, and you'll find no work…_

I finally made it back to our bedroom to find Nathalie crossed legged, her slightly softer figure shrouded in an unflattering nightgown similar to the drab grey I was wearing. Before I even condoned it, my body burst into a spasm of tears and within a minute I found myself being comforted by Nathalie as she stroked my long hair and whispered "I know, I know." Even if she didn't. The room looked different somehow; more like a prison than the haven I'd convinced myself it was. The stale wood of our bed could have been chains, and the spines of the bibles and saints' tales might have had teeth like daggers. Only Nathalie looked safe, with a face full of sleep and her mane tickling my shoulders with a texture like mine.

"Clarisse… And the boys… and the money… gone… and I-"

"It's okay, Thérèse; I know." Nathalie soothed, but her words had an opposite effect.

"What do you mean 'you know'?" I sprang up, eyes accusingly boring into Nathalie's. I could see my own alarmed posture in her orbs.

"Sister Clarisse told me last night, oh Tee don't be upset! She wanted to tell you herself, she was scared you might run away in the night." She grabbed my wrist as I leapt of the bed and paced on the ground, furious.

"How could you not tell me Nathalie! How did you sleep last night knowing we'd have to be nuns for our beds!" I quickly ran to shut the door, my eyes brimming with hot tears. Nathalie cracked all the bones in her fingers, proving how nervous she was by me.

"I promised her I wouldn't say a word. Could you imagine if I'd told you? You would have sprinted out into the cold night without a minute's thinking. I know you would've." Her motherly tone was irritating to no end.

"And why don't you think I would now?"

"You have all day to calm down," She said. "We'll have a good life Thérèse. This was the plan all along. What did you think would happen? That we'd turn eighteen and leave for Paris to start a new life for ourselves? That our grandparents would take us in and teach us to become ladies? They loathe us, Tee. And as for Paris…well." Her laugh smashed into a million different pieces in the solemn air, where every piece of bland furniture seemed to be burning amber by my ignorant sight.

"I did think exactly that." I added bitterly, a decibel quieter. "I can't stay here Nathalie, I'll drive myself mad."

"Better mad than starving."

"You don't understand, my mind is a plague of sins. I don't deserve the holy life the way these nuns do."

"We all think things we shouldn't, but don't you get it? This is our future." Nathalie was resistant to my points, as I fired thousands at her unyielding lips. Finally, an hour had past and our throats were becoming hoarse leading us to a silence very similar to the one we'd shared on arrival. My back was straightened onto the cold panes of a stone wall, my knees tucked up to my chest as I weighed my options. Each would destroy me, but which for the better? Nathalie was in mindless worry for me, fretting as she glanced at me and when I caught her straight to the door.

"Come with me," I finally begged in the voice of a whisper.

"To see Sister?"

"No, to Paris." The blue in her eyes stood out in panic.

"I can't, Thérèse." It all came down to this. Three little words to break my heart. The only person I had to hold my hand when my on its own felt incomplete, or would share a giggle at the vastly inappropriate things Nuns would say if heard by an imagination. She had been the listener to my ideas for novels, and who'd frowned as I insisted I didn't need to wash my hair. She'd been my mother, my father, my best friend, my siblings and my enemy all wrapped up in a face that looked like mine. And all at once, she was willing to sever the bond for the church. I felt sick rise up in my stomach at the thought of living without her.

I got dressed in silence; she didn't look my way as I packed my bag. The satchel was tiny; and could only fit an extra change of clothes. My outfit was one of my nicer pieces; a black dress no less to mark the despair of a girl so intent on abandoning faith she'd pay the price of her only family for it. Was I being selfish, or noble? Selfish for giving up Nathalie as much as she was me, or noble for giving up a warm bed for what I believed was right? I hoped for the latter as I tied the waist at the back and adjusted the sleeves that ended at the elbow with frills. The dress reached to my ankles, my collar bones on full display as I pulled the shoulders in exact place. I plaited my wild curls away, brushing was much sorer than I'd expected as Nathalie had taken it upon herself to do it herself all these years. The plait was clumsy and lopsided, a little like me as I refused to cry.

"May God have mercy on you, Thérèse." Sister Clarisse wished my on my way unwillingly with two loaves of bread and the permission for outerwear, her heart as heavy as the strain the convent put on the muddy grass. The skies were beginning to lighten and it was easy to forget how much the sky could darken in the course of an hour or two. After her hug, she helped me put on the black thick coat and a black cap to protect my ears from the tough Parisian frostbite.

Nathalie did not see me off at the front door, although I caught her sobbing figure in the window as I passed through the gates and caught a final look at the building I hadn't left for five long years. Freedom was the last emotion I had strength to admire.

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_A/N - I'd just like to take this moment to say a large thank you to all those who have read/reviewed/added this to their favorites. You're a small crowd but treasured all the less. I know she has still to meet Enjolras yet - I'm dying for this to clash and it's taking all my strength to not rush it - but I'm so overcome with muse right now I think I may just start on the third chapter. As always,feedback is like gold. I have so many ideas and I want you to be there with me when they unfold.__** This is just the beginning!**_


	3. Yellow: the colour of hunger

I cracked. I sweared. I cried. Yellow was all around me; the blotches on the skin of the diseased, the off-white makeup smudged onto terrifying night creatures and the sun when it blared, creating cracks on my lips so painful I could hardly whimper in pain for the fear of letting air touch it's surface for too long. But it was famine that was tearing me up; and with that came the lust for the yellow I couldn't have. Loafs of freshly baked bread that was soft in its cream-colored middle, pastries yet to be placed in the oven, or drizzled honey. Instead, I was faced with starvation; and drops of rain when it fell.

I'd been in the state of near death for two weeks give or take a day or two. When someone feels so dazed by their own suffering, it's easy to forget the exact time. I took each night as it came, and in my darkest moments prayed the day would never come. Paris wasn't the home of dreams I'd foolishly promised myself it would be despite the strains of the sisters I'd left behind. Instead I was nestled on whatever doorstep didn't notice, the alleyways dripping with people like me for one reason or another. Maybe runaways, maybe out of jobs, but all just as ravenous though far more willing to get the food, no questions asked. I was careful at first to avoid the night scene, and watched with peeping glances as the men poured to prowl on girls even younger than me dressed in hardly anything at all and faces heavy hiding the signs of what sex might have given them before. The men didn't care; they wanted bodies and not necessarily beauties. It was easy to forget about me, hidden far enough from their lust filled eyes hiding my face and body in my coat gathering more than dust on its rough travelling. I didn't hide in vain – these girls no matter how tarted up still owned a loveliness I had never acquired – on looks alone, I doubted I'd ever find anyone. And including the depths of my darkened soul, the statistics were even slimmer.

Exhausted, I perched on the grey back steps of a bar I guessed from the merry songs of drunks bursting out of the thick walls. I had searched for more work without success; the more tired and unclean I became, the more they turned me away without giving me the benefit of a hopeless beg. Where was Nathalie? Tucked away in the hands of God as it were, oblivious to the fact her own sister was not on a bar's, but death himself's doorstep. I could hear his voice whisper in the wind as it blew across it's face, the chill temptation it. "Come with me," He seemed to say. "Leave this all behind…" But I tried to ignore it, and tried to press on. I was already damned. Why let death have me without having a chance to condemn myself truly? Nevertheless I was the one who had run away, and was aware of my consequences the minute I let the heaven's gates shut behind me.

"Off, off, off!" I heard a shriek pound through the peeling door and jab me in my back. Spinning around I caught the glare of a women, her attempts to move me certainly working and sent me bundling for the cracks in the pavement. I hardly grimaced as I felt grubble enter the cut it soon spilt onto my cheek. "Away with your filth, we have no scraps. Do you hear me? Non!"

"Please madame, I don't look to beg. I'm looking for a- a- job." The final words were poisonous in my throat, the wispiness of a fractured voice evident as job came out with its own tears.

"We have no need for another set of hands." She crossed her lean arms together with a tight-lip. "And even if we did," I could feel the venom forming on her lips. Women with comfortable homes always forgot it only took a day for their fortunes to turn sour. "Why would we want you? You silly little girl. Run home to whatever parents you abandoned. Shoot!"

Maybe it was desperation. Maybe it was the pining hunger of my stomach. Maybe it was the taunting nature of how she said it; but something inside me snapped and forced my spirit into one last plea. After all, what more could I do? She, standing five foot six with thick wrists and a long, horse-like face and frowning eyes, was my only hope.

"I can write!" I burst out, my throat burned at such a vibrant crackle of words. "And read. I can work, too."

"Any girl can work if she needs to. Tell me, have you sold yourself on the streets? Have you let these fiends take all you have to offer?" Her voice was steel, unquavering at even the most daring of questions.

"No, madame." I bit into my lip, my eyes falling to the dull ground.

"And why's that? You're obviously starving."

"I was raised by nuns, Madame. I haven't the knowledge or want to-"

"Nuns?" She laughed. "My, you are a curious child. I always wanted a daughter... She might have looked like you too. What's your name?"

"Thérèse."

"Thérèse... she might have been called that too." Suddenly there was a sadness to her, as though looking back to a memory she couldn't bear. We basked in a silence, before suddenly she broke;

"Can you honestly read? Don't lie."

"Yes, perfectly. Some Latin too." My voice raised in whatever was happening. Prosperity? Finally I could feel the warmth from inside spreading onto the surface of my skin. "Where are your family? You ought to return to them while you have a chance."

"My parents are dead." Never had I said it quite that briefly, like I was naming the name of a street and not a fact that had changed my life so utterly so. "My siblings are in care."

"Don't think you'll get a wage to feed them? You're wrong. No one has the money to provide here."

"Oh no Madame, they have loving guardians."

"And why not you?"

"I… I was to be forced into circumstances I couldn't deal with. They wanted me to become one of them, you see, and I could not forsake God and join when I am not-"

"Enough, child. You've said enough." She stopped my monologue, drumming her lip with her finger – clean fingernails were a good sign – before letting out a groan so large it nearly knocked me off my perch.

"Oh God have mercy on me. You better be telling the truth or I'll fling out worse than what you came in. Come on," Though her words were welcoming, the throbbing temples she failed to calm as she stroked them didn't, as well as the haste tug of my clothes leading me in. The effect was immediate; my pupils expanding as the feel of a room was alien to me. How nice it was to be shielded from the trials of the weather, the room roaring with candlelight and midnight hazes blurred by every pint shoved down thirsty throats. Men croaked as the woman passed through, and she giggled and punched their shoulders lightly with a smile I'd yet to see as we made it to the cellar. It was much colder, but calmer too. The bellows of the drunks were only echoes patting against the wall and the barrels were illuminated in the poorly lit room.

"We'll find you a bed here tonight. And don't look so pleased; you might be gone by morning. Don't think you're the exception; if you can't do all you say we won't hesitate to send you out. You'll work hard and your pay will be leftovers and rent for the room. Understood? Pay may be negotiated at a much later date, if you make it. Come." She pulled me again, her copper hair shining in the moonlight pouring through the room courtesy of the box window.

"You can't serve looking like that." She groaned, more friendly than before. Her actions and expressions contradicted much in the way her looks did. There was the soft, flowing locks and chocolate eyes, but a sharp jawline and lithe, strong figure. I followed sheepishly through her home, reaching a mouldy room with a basin and little else. Slowly, she filled it and left me with dry clothes not saying a single word. "Be ready in a few minutes, you'll be working first thing tomorrow so get your sleep. Quickly now, I haven't got all day." She stood up to leave, her odd kindness causing my head to sting. My dirty bones ached for the chance to baptize itself in a new life.

"Madame?" She turned to face me. "What is your name?" I asked as tenderly as my ragged throat would let me.

"Aurore, but you'll call me Madame." Aurore almost smiled - almost - and all at once I was alone.

My skin glowed in the gleam of fresh water, no matter how cold it was against my chill frame. I was so peaceful, I almost dozed off right there and then; but reminding myself of the comforting prospect of a make-do bed, managed to keep myself from falling completely. The blood of my new cut dashed across my cheek began to congeal itself, burning only slightly as I nursed it in the cool water.

Suddenly, a man's voice arose;

"Aurore darling, you wouldn't believe-" I didn't have enough time to stop him. There stood a man twice my age and looking right at me, eyes wide in surprise and possibly the fact a stranger was stark naked in his basin. I hoped it was his basin. "Please Monsieur, I can explain!" I quickly covered my chest frantically before the words tumbled from my mouth. "That doesn't sound like ma chérie," He tutted, scratching his eyebrow frantically without the distaste I expected from him. "Get dressed, little one." I waited without moving for him to go.

"No, just now. I want to see you." I gulped. Who was this man? There was something in his eyes, the starving I'd been accustomed to. His hair was dirty blonde; his eyes a piercing blue and his skin almost olive, stretching over a body of muscle and hard labour. But the only color I could see was plain yellow, and being blinded by a single hue was all I had to go through with the enormous task of letting him see me. Every virtue in my body chose to fight me, nerves included.

No man had ever seen me before; and I'd half assumed during my early years that no man ever would. Of course, I hoped for a man to marry as any girl would with kind eyes and loving arms, the kind fairytales giggled about and hearts skipped three beats for. Paris was the land of the free, in limbs in speech, but never had I planned to act upon it even in the wilderness of my escapade. Not really. I found deep within myself a part of me that wanted to show him, the part that had been driven mad by the church and its restrictions. Was that part who I was? Or that I'd become? It was a monster, beautiful in the fiercest sense though dangerous to no end. It would destroy me, I was sure of that.

Maladroitly, I stumbled out of the grey bucket trying to hide my tremble. _Pretend he's not there..._ I thought to myself. My eyes refused to meet his that seemed to be burning holes in my skin. I'd never thought much of my body; it was much too small in height, and my thighs and hips were dotted with one or two secret freckles and bruises. I did my best to hide my nakedness as I dried myself, but his unyielding scrutiny gave me no option than to be completely and wholly bare. And with that; totally vulnerable. Finally I pulled the cotton nightgown over me - he'd stolen my appreciation for such soft fabrics in terror - and walked away sluggishly.

"What is your name, child?" He seemed to get a thrill of calling me that. At sixteen years old, I didn't see myself as a child until now. A lame little child, ready to take the instructions of anyone with wrinkles or a beard. I answered him quietly. "Goodnight, Thérèse." I shivered as I walked past and his hand grimy with a day's work stroked the lines beside my cut softly, with the touch of a father I'd lost. Speechless, it took everything in my anatomy not to sprint.

I hurled downwards to the cellar where I found a nest of blankets prepared especially for me by the hands of who's husband I could only assumed had watched my bare frame lit only by candles. Now it was the moonlight guided me to my new bed, untainted, waiting for an owner. But I was sure I'd get no sleep tonight. Could I tell her? Should I? I craved the home I'd only just acquired and telling her would surely spoil it. Secrets and adultery; already Paris was pulling a sinner from my organs and painting them red.

His eyes had carved scars in me, I was sure of it. Who gave him the right to ask that of me and more importantly, why hadn't I refused him? Was I another whore on the streets, where a body was a payment? He may have not I swallowed my thoughts, wondering what was the ultimate price a girl like me was willing to pay for a cold, almost bed.

I spent my first night of the rest of my life in tears, dreaming of a Paris that would never come and a love that would never prevail and having nightmares of those dull yellow irises, sickening me to the stomach that would never be empty as long as I was willing to oblige.

_A/N - Hey everyone! The story just took a slightly darker, though important plot twist I hope you'll enjoy! And I am happy to say Enjolras is well on his way to his first appearance - thank god - so any comments as always is appreciated thanks :)_


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